Beneath What Sky
by The Sun Also Rises
Summary: Beneath What Sky- the continuing adventures of Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular. The time has come for Eragon and Saphira to step out of the shadows. Arya's quote at the end is from the poem "Unmanifest Destiny" by Richard Hovey. I own NOTHING
1. Beneath What Sky

Back at Borromeo, the rain dripped gently down the window pane, a symbol of the tears that had been shed over the many who had perished in the recent conflict, namelyOromis and Glaedr. Arya sighed softly and wondered at the sky, that it should pour down rain just when the world was in need of a cleansing from all of the blood and sweat and tears of battle. It certainly seemed a marvel that it was raining. After all, Surda was not exactly known for its wet weather. Yet still the rain continued on to wash away the dust and dirt. If only it could wash away the pain.

A knock sounded at her door startling Arya out of her reverie. Sighing again, she trod barefoot across the cool stone floor of her elegant quarters in Borromeo Castle and lifted her door latch. A little hooligan of a boy of perhaps no more than ten stood outside.

"Yes?" Arya said raising an eyebrow at the boy's ruffled appearance, wondering what he could possibly want of her.

The boy seemed to quail under the elf's stare and began to stutter.

"Well," Arya said agitated, "have you a message?" Dealing with children was not her strong point.

The boy nodded meekly and swallowed his trepidation enough to say, "The witch Angela has sent me to fetch you, milady. She wants to see you in her hut."

Forgetting the boy for a moment, Arya said nothing and pondered why Angela would have reason to send for her. Eragon had already cured Elva. Unless it was something about Nasuada…

"Did Angela say why she wished to see me?" Arya suddenly asked the boy.

The boy jumped at her sudden words. "No, milady. She didn't." At this, the boy shivered causing Arya to notice that his clothes were dripping wet. Frowning, she motioned for the boy to stay where he was, then ventured into her toilette room and returned with a fine cotton towel.

"Here," she said kindly. "You may use this to cover yourself as you return home. Keep it if you like. I have no need of it."

The boy frowned, his child's mind trying to understand how the elf had changed from threatening to maternal in less than five minutes. Giving up in the end, he bowed courteously, thanked Arya, and tore off down the hall towards the exit of the palace grounds.

Arya allowed herself a brief smile as she watched the boy, in all his youthful energy, run home, most likely ecstatic with the thought of being able to present his mother with a fine cloth for her kitchen. Or perhaps he had no mother. In that case, he might be running anxiously to a vender to sell the material for a few gold coins. Arya chuckled as she thought back to how the boy had begun to tremble and stutter when she had turned a threatening eye on him. In a way, the boy reminded her of Eragon Shadeslayer, another boy. Both had that youthful giddiness about them, that precious innocence…and that fear of angering her.

_Ah well,_ she thought to herself. _Naivety runs in both of them_.

After donning a thick cloak in hopes of keeping dry, she glanced again outside. The rain was falling in torrents now. She smiled. Rain was exactly what this land needed.

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Arya wound her way through Aberon's crowded streets, ducking to avoid beams that were being hoisted up to rooftops and falling particles of glass and wood from above. The city was fortifying itself, a task not even the rain had been able to stop. The people were anxious and frightened. She could see it in their eyes. They knew not when Galbatorix would strike next. But they knew that when he did, he would strike _them _and he would strike them hard.

Arya's eyes grew sad as she saw the faces of the sad, lean children. Their eyes radiated suffering and fear. She could not blame them. They had been born under the shadow of a war that promised to decimate their lives…at any time. Every day, they had risen with the knowledge (consciously or not) that the fragile balance that was their existence could be torn away from them at any moment…and never returned. Even now, some of them…most of them, in fact…had lost a father or a brother or a cousin on the Burning Plains, and perhaps also in the recent skirmishes.

To her surprise, Arya spied the messenger boy atop a roof, laboring under the torrential rain to help a few old men secure a catapult to the floor. She smiled as she saw the cloth she had given him wrapped about his head in a turban-like fashion, no doubt to protect his eyes from the heavy rain. When he saw her, he smiled and waved. She gave a small wave back and made a mental note to find out more about the boy from Angela.

Angela's hut was located a good distance away from Borromeo. Although it was uncharacteristic for one such as Angela to be so far from the excitement of court life, Arya suspected that she secretly preferred an existence away from the stuffy old nobles and their insufferable wives who cared only for unmasking and disgracing their husbands' mistresses.

Remembering a conversation she had had with Faolin on the topic of mistresses, Arya frowned. It pained her to remember the night they had spent out under the stars and the warm feel of Faolin's gentle hand as it caressed her cheek. He had told her that she was as beautiful as the night and as glorious as the dawn; and then he had kissed her, sweetly and without pretentions. Afterwards, when she had smiled and said that, for all his flattering words, she expected to find him in the bed of another in less than a week, he had looked back at her with his brilliantly blue eyes and said that she was the only one he could ever love. Then she had slapped his cheek playfully and told him to snap out of his fanciful notions.

But even in that moment of lightheartedness, Arya had known that he meant what he had said, every word. And it was this knowledge, that there had been a one so faithful for her and that now he was no more, that pained her more than anything else and caused her to despair a little more every day.

By the time Arya pulled herself away from her nostalgic thoughts, she had reached Angela's hut and could see the spunky witch in the yard standing over a boiling cauldron that kept spewing bits of green ooze.

"Angela!" Arya called out. The witch either heard her not or chose not to turn around.

Arya smiled and let herself into the yard through the small gate of a whitewashed fence. "Angela!" she called out again as she drew closer.

Angela turned around quickly, scowling at the intruder. When she saw that it was Arya, her face broke into a relaxed grin. "So you've finally come, eh?" she barked lightheartedly.

Arya nodded and smiled slightly. "As you requested."

"Yes, well…" Angela muttered. "I haven't seen you in a while, not informally at least. We've always been in this council or that strategy meeting. That's certainly no way to visit with one's friends, now is it?"

Arya smiled, something she could not help but do while in the company of the witch. "I suppose not."

"Well, don't just stand there!" Angela chided. "Let's go into the house and have a cup of warm tea. I brewed it not half an hour ago." Seeing the look on Arya's face at the prospect of consuming one of the witch's infamous teas, Angela smiled and added, "Don't worry. It's only blueberry. Nothing poisonous or in any way harmful. I made sure I cleaned out the cauldron that I used to make the poison for the battle _before _making our tea."

Arya grimaced. Angela only laughed.

Once seated inside Angela's cozy hut, the pair took to drinking tea and talking about old friends and memories.

"Do you remember the time," Angela said as she poured them both another cup of tea, "when we challenged that old thump Gannel to a game of riddles?"

Arya smiled. "Of course, how could I forget? Telling him in the Ancient Language that it was a game he couldn't lose. What was he to gain if he won? Oh yes, the recipe for Faelnirv. You were quite conniving, if I remember correctly. You told-"

"Me?" Angela interjected. "Oh no, no, no, no. You, my high-born conspirator, were every bit as sneaky as I. In fact you still are! I cannot believe that you would keep the truth of your heritage from me! You two-sided, sly-tongued, liar! What were you thinking?"

Ordinarily, Arya would have cursed whoever would have dared speak to her in such a manner. But Angela was certainly an exception.

"I apologize, Angela. You must know that I wanted to tell you; truly I did. But the time was never right. And I had no desire to drag out my troubles again. I wanted to bury the past."

Angela sighed. "It did not work, did it?"

Arya frowned. "What did not work?"

"Burying the past," Angela murmured. "It never works. I know."

"No," Arya murmured, then paused before saying, "you are right. The past is a part of the soul."

Angela nodded.

After a prolonged silence, Arya decided to break the awkwardness by asking Angela about the boy.

"The boy you sent me, is he a friend of yours?"

Angela chuckled. "Ah, so you met Arrin. He is a stable boy with no family, no connections, and certainly no money. But I wondered if he would give you the message…or run the moment he saw your formidable stare."

Arya rolled her eyes. "I am not _that _terrifying, am I?"

Angela made no reply, but instead smiled rather smugly.

Arya smirked in return. "What a friend you are!"

"Oh yes," Angela countered, "the best! I am here to point out your every flaw and blemish so that others will not say of you, 'What a beautiful Princess! Pity I'm scared to death of her.' If I reform you here and now, people will not speak so of you, as they have previously done."

Arya frowned. "Who has spoken so of me?"

"Oh," Angela twittered, "no one in particular. Just some of the nobles at that lummox Orrin's court. Bloody terrified they are of you too. Although, despite your formidable demeanor, they seem to admire you very much. Only, not for your diplomatic ways."

Arya's face seemed to incense. "So just what do they admire me for?"

Angela looked at her knowingly. "This and that, dear. What else?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course, for men what else is there? I have a good mind to horsewhip them and send them home to their wives!"

Angela sighed. "Now, Arya, there you go again. Making ready to smite anyone who annoys you. It is no wonder that Eragon is so afraid of you."

After a few moments, Angela's words registered in Arya's mind. "Eragon is afraid of me?" she queried in a voice no more than a whisper.

Angela frowned. "Now, don't let those words dishearten you. You and I, we've been friends for a good many years. I wanted to be honest. But on another note, I think that-"

"Did he tell you so?"Arya murmured. "Did Eragon tell you that he was afraid of me?"

Angela sighed. "I suppose I cannot lie my way through this one."

Arya remained silent.

Angela shrugged. "He is a boy with no one to confide in except for his dragon, who I doubt has much more experience in these matters than he does. He is alone, Arya. I trust you know the feeling."

Arya dismissed Angela's last remark and instead asked, "What more did Eragon want?"

"My advice."

"About me?" Arya questioned.

"Yes," Angela replied shortly.

"Well?" Arya asked impatiently.

Angela chuckled softly. "I told him that he was a lovesick infant and that if he didn't snap out of it and leave you alone, I would make _sure_ that he did." The witch smiled and held up her staff threateningly.

Arya's lips curved in a smile. "I suppose I can always count on you to look out for me."

"Yes, I suppose you can."

Upon looking out the window, Arya saw that the sun had finally overcome the threatening weather. It was once again a typical Surdan day and it seemed as if the rain had never come.

Arya rose gracefully and walked over to Angela. Placing her hand on the herbalist's shoulder, Arya murmured, "Thank you for the tea…and the company. It is good to see you again. But now I must go. I have duties that needs be attended to."

Angela sighed. "You work too much."

Arya smiled. "I do what I must do, what must be done to defeat Galbatorix."

"Still say you work too much. Always hiding behind your job, always busy with some mundane task, or else involved in some perilous clandestine intrigue, what kind of life is that for an attractive woman like yourself?"

Arya smiled softly at Angela and met her eyes firmly. "It is the only life." And with that, Arya exited the hut and made her way back to the street.

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Despite all of Angela's claims that Arya was far too absorbed with her job, Arya found herself with absolutely nothing to do. Nasuada was in Orrin's lab enjoying her day of leisure. Though, since she was with Orrin, Arya doubted that Nasuada was having a pleasant day at all. Briefly Arya thought about trekking around Aberon, but quickly discarded that idea because there was really nothing that she had not already seen. Finally, Arya decided to visit Eragon and Saphira. She had avoided them since the siege at Feinster. after the fight, when she had looked back on all that had occurred, the memory of him holding her made her feel slightly ruffled. Avoiding his presence seemed like the wise thing to do. But she could not avoid the young Rider forever. And today was as good a day as any to restore their camaderie.

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Arya found Eragon sitting on a decrepit fence that looked as if it were about to cave in at any moment. He had buried his face in his hands and seemed to her more thin and haggard looking than he had been before Oromis and Glaedr's death. She sighed. Perhaps she had been too hard on him at the Agaeti Blohdren. After all, he was so young. An infatuation such as his was only natural. And already such a heavy burden had been placed on his shoulders. Perhaps it would not hurt to give him a little company.

Without calling out to him, and without him turning his head, Arya managed to take a seat beside Eragon. He knew that she was there, yet he declined to look up at her. Still she spoke, regardless of that fact that he seemed to be ignoring her.

"I heard that you went to see the witch Angela."

Eragon nodded. "She told you about that, did she?"

Arya nodded. "I went to see her today. She seemed concerned about you."

"Really?" Eragon murmured, a sharp edge to his voice. "I was under the impression that she didn't care too much for my…sentiments."

Arya sighed. "What exactly did you tell her?"

Eragon shrugged. "I told her about Murtagh, about how I pity what he has become. I told her about Oromis and Glaedr too.."

"And what did she say about them?"

"She feels sorry for Murtagh and mourns for Oromis and Glaedr. As do I."

Arya nodded. "Galbatorix has done great wrong in pitting brother against brother. I too have pity for Murtagh. To be in Galbatorix's presence must be…" she trailed off.

Eragon said nothing.

Arya pursed her lips. "Eragon…are you well? You seem distracted."

For the first time, Eragon looked at her. "Do I?" the bitterness evident in his voice.

Arya only looked at him.

Eragon clenched his jaw. "I'm tired."

"Is that all?"

At her words, something within Eragon snapped. He laughed bitterly, looking to the heavens. "Of course it isn't all! I'm in agony! To start, my uncle died a horrible death. Do you know what his wounds looked like? His flesh was rotted through with acid. He was burning! And Brom…I had to watch him die, slowly, painfully. And what happened to Murtagh...And ORomis and Glaedr!" His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Why couldn't I save them?"

Arya looked into his eyes, a look of deep compassion upon her face. "I understand how you feel."

Eragon sighed. "I'm sorry. I apologize. I don't know what came over me. I…I need to rest. I'm very tired. I just need to…"

Arya put a hand on Eragon's shoulder. "You needn't face this alone, Eragon. You have friends who would help you shoulder this heavy burden."

Eragon nodded. "I know. I know. Again, I apologize. I did not intend for you to hear my mad ramblings."

"They're not mad," Arya countered. "You feel as any person would feel under such circumstances."

"You don't seem to," Eragon said softly.

"I do not seem to do what?" Arya questioned.

"To feel," Eragon murmured.

For a moment, Arya was speechless. Then she looked Eragon in the eye. "I do feel. Whatever made you think that I do not?"

Eragon shrugged and declined to answer.

Arya pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Eragon, understand that I have had many years to learn how to control my feelings. When I was young, I was every bit as vocal and boisterous as you are now."

Eragon's shoulders slumped. "I feel…so inadequate." He looked up at Arya, pain written across his lined face. "I can't do this."

Arya frowned. "Cannot do what?"

Eragon looked up to the sky as if it would give him the right words in the shapes of the clouds. "I can't win this fight. The enemy is too strong. As it is, I was barely able to defeat Murtagh with the help of thirteen spellcasters! If I had difficulty facing the Razaac, Galbatorix's minions, how then am I supposed to kill Galbatorix? He's one hundred times stronger, more cunning, more experienced. He has a kingdom at his call, an army." Looking helplessly up at Arya, he whispered, "What do I have?"

Arya cupped his cheek with her cool delicate palm. The contact made him flinch, but she ignored it. She looked deep into his eyes and murmured, "A heart, Eragon. You have a heart. And that is worth more than all the men and magic in the world."

Eragon looked away from her, his mind unsettled with her so near. "Yes, but-"

Arya brought his face back to meet hers. "Do you not see? Galbatorix may have vast resources, but you have love and a sense of right and wrong and friends and family that care about you. Galbatorix does not value these things, nor does he have them. You have a dragon that is yours, not some beast twisted by evil magic to serve the raving fancies of a madman. You wish to do good in this world. Does that not count for something?"

Eragon locked eyes with her. "But what if it is not enough?"

Arya smiled softly. "But it is. Weapons and magic are useful. But without love and goodwill, they can become a poison to their master."

Lowering his eyes, Eragon murmured, "Perhaps you are right. I just…I haven't been myself lately. I've been upset and out of sorts. I suppose that seeing all of the people from my village has made me wish for my old life back. I don't feel ready for this new one. The tasks that await me seem insurmountable."

Arya smiled again. "In order to climb the tallest mountain, you must first take one step."

Eragon laughed. "Some days I feel like I've taken ten backwards."

At this, Arya laughed as well. Still chuckling, she stood from her seat on the fence and turned to face Eragon. Slowly, she bent down and planted a small, gentle kiss on his left cheek. Rising to her full height, she murmured, "I do not know beneath what sky or on what sea shall be thy fate. I only know it shall be high. I only know it shall be great."

Flushed, Eragon said, "That's from The Deed of Geda!" But as he looked up to face her, he found that she had already gone, gone away with the wind.


	2. The World on Fire

Beneath What Sky-Chapter Two

Nasuada pursed her lips and brought her hands together, lining up her fingertips so that they formed five slender arches. A thin film of perspiration gleamed upon her brow, testament to the smothering heat. For a few moments longer, she stood by the window, somehow mesmerized by the hazy heat ripples that took shape upon the horizon. To indicate her mounting disapproval, she sighed wearily; then, putting on as demure a face as she could muster, turned to face King Orrin of Surda.

"Your majesty," she began, "I wish you to understand that I truly hold your advice in the highest regard. You are my elder, and I respect you and value your council. However, my good conscience cannot allow me to send Shadeslayer on this mission. It would be a dangerous venture, by all accounts, as well as a potential fiasco if something were to go wrong." She said all of this in a rush, eager to get it over with, eager to make him understand; she paused for a moment, seemingly to gather her thoughts. Orrin looked as if he might interject, but, before he was able, Nasuada resumed her entreaty.

"Your majesty, if we were to lose Eragon and Saphira, all of Alagaesia would succumb to Galbatorix's dominion. Look around you. There is none other than Eragon that could possibly defeat Galbatorix. We cannot afford to let him die for a fool's hope."

Orrin breathed deeply, keen blue eyes bent upon Nasuada. "My Lady Nasuada," he countered. "I have noticed, as I am sure you have, that Eragon and Saphira are not strong enough to defeat Galbatorix. Even with the help of thirteen powerful elvish spellcasters, he could barely fend Murtagh off! What will happen when Galbatorix flies out here to obliterate us with magic? Who will stand up to him? Eragon?" He scoffed at this. "I think not. We need to concentrate on finding another Rider."

Nasuada frowned. "And I wish to concentrate on keeping our current Rider alive! This errand you propose-storming Galbatorix's castle for the last dragon egg-is insanity! Do you not think that, if there were even the minutest vulnerability to the Black Lair, the elves would have exploited it before now? If the elves have not succeeded in this area, powerful as they are, do you think we shall stand a chance?"

"I do not have all of the answers," Orrin groused. "And I do not propose to send Shadeslayer knocking upon Galbatorix's front door. It would all be kept quiet. We have a man who, even now, is searching for weaknesses in Uru Baen's foul walls. Joed, I believe, is his name. If he found some small way, some nook or crevice of vulnerability, we could be the agents of Galbatorix's undoing! Think of it, Nasuada!"

Nasuada's eyes narrowed. "I understand your proposition, Your Highness. But, as of now, no secret passageway exists; we must put the idea out of our minds. If, in future, a way is found, then perhaps we shall see about sending in Eragon and some spellcasters. But, until then, we would do well to wait."

Orrin frowned in turn and, with a few curt words, took his leave.

As soon as Orrin had exited Nasuada's Borromeo office, Nasuada sighed dejectedly. This was the third time this week that Orrin had come to bother her about "storming the castle!" It was folly, the entire harebrained scheme. Still, she could not openly dismiss it and offend Orrin, for his approval was essential to her success as a leader. However, thoughts of wresting the Eldunari as well as the next dragon egg from Galbatorix floated in her mind. If a passageway could be found…

Unconsciously, Nasuada clenched her fists in anger, anger at life's complexities. As she did so, her arms stung, evidence of the wounds she had inflicted upon herself in the Trial of Long Knives. "Foolish…stupid…" Nasuada muttered to no one in particular. Absentmindedly, she walked over to the window and looked out upon the courtyard of Borromeo Castle. The day's heat was scalding; the sun in its merciless progress across the sky now hung perpendicular to the ground. Squinting, Nasuada could make out the hazy image of Aberon in the distance.

Allowing herself a rare moment of personal reflection, she gazed softly out over the city and wondered wistfully about what her life would have been like had he still been with her. They would be great friends now, to be sure, and perhaps more. She still remembered the way his long, dark hair fell across his eyes in that attractive, yet casual, way. But, as instantaneously as the image came, another filled her thoughts. This time, she saw a young man, face worn beyond normality, eyes soulless and red like the setting sun, yet cold as the distant stars.

She shuddered. Eragon's description of Murtagh chilled her to the bone. She wondered what it was like for Murtagh, sitting there everyday in Galbatorix's lair, in his presence, being instructed in black magic. An involuntary shudder ran her length; Murtagh, a good and courageous man in her opinion, had fallen to the dark persuasions of Galbatorix's magic. No one was above persuasion. If Eragon were captured by the black king, how long would he oppose him?

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Eragon whooped with glee as Saphira spiraled and somersaulted in midair. The air, crisp and refreshing, rushed about his exposed face and arms, an awakening to the current of living. There was something about being air-born, about flying above the clouds that gave Eragon a sense of childish elation. Saphira felt it too, for he could sense her giddiness. Like one dot in the sky, they tumbled on, Saphira throwing herself into every aerial maneuver she knew. Higher and higher she flew, with nothing above her now but the glorious sun.

Eragon, during a brief rest from the twists and twirls, smiled contentedly and patted Saphira's neck. It was good to be together again.

After another few minutes, Saphira, with a contented sigh, began to spiral downward, back to Borromeo Castle. As she descended, Eragon reflected briefly upon the events of the past few days.

Nasuada's decision to regroup back in Aberon had surprised him. He had supposed, as had everyone else, that Nasuada would immediately go on the offensive after their success at Feinster. It seemed foolish to back track. Eragon shrugged. The Varden was hers to lead.

On the elvish front, a great, but costly victory had been won at Gilead. Even now, Islanzadi's forces were emptying the city of all who professed devotion to the Black King. However, despite the elves victory, the city burned. Somehow, Galbatorix's magicians had concocted an unquenchable fire that ran rampant throughout the city. The elves had since tried every method they knew, magical and physical, to extinguish the fires. However, their efforts were to no avail. Gilead glowed red- perhaps the flames were a symbol of the blood that had been spilt over the past few days.

Katrina's pregnancy had been formally announced. From what Eragon had been able to surmise, Eragon gathered that the women of Carvahall were flooding Katrina with advice: good, bad, and ridiculous. Roran, part of the squadron sent to clean up Feinster, had been absent for several days. Briefly Eragon wondered how he was faring.

He then thought of Arya, and of her lips upon his cheek. He had never believed she would be so…open, so friendly. With a frown of concentration, he thought about their relationship.

In truth, it had changed since Feinster. Something had happened there, something he was at a loss to explain or understand. There was some strange camaraderie that came from fighting and defending together. Biting his lip, Eragon mused over what was and what might be. Saphira's rough landing jolted him out of his reverie.

_Daydreamer_, Saphira teased.

Eragon rolled his eyes. _Need I remind you that I put up with your mad ramblings about Gla_- he froze, unwilling to deal with the pang of guilt that flashed through his mind as he thought of his fallen teachers. Remorse washed over him. "I should have been there," he whispered.

Saphira too became subdued. _Little One,_ she murmured, _do not blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done_. After a few moments of respectful silence, she resumed speaking. _Now come, what were we talking about?_

_Arya, _Eragon answered.

Saphira chuckled. _Oh yes, Arya. She seems to be on your mind quite a lot these days, hmm? I do not mind, though. Of all of the women in Alagaesia, she is the only one I would have you love._

Eragon frowned._ You seem to be quite chummy with her lately. I'm not sure I like it._

_Jealous? _Saphira prodded.

Eragon blushed and nodded. _It's strange for me to feel as I do about Arya, yet be jealous of her because of your affection towards her._

_Now, now, little one, _Saphira teased, _there's enough of me to go around_.

Eragon laughed. _I know. But I want you all to myself._

Saphira hummed happily. _I am glad_.

Eragon smiled. _I suppose I'd rather you like her. I remember what you did to Trianna. That was sticky._

_Only because you get yourself into the very stickiest of situations, little one. Now dismount and let me see if I cannot find some occupation for you that will keep you OUT of danger._

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Arya sighed for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. She had never particularly enjoyed filling out forms and signing propositions, and today her dislike was heightened by the omnipresent heat. Picking up a loose parchment, she fanned herself in an attempt to cool off. However, the attempt was futile, and she soon resumed drudging through her work.

The next report to be read was one on the activities of Surda's building and fortifying forces. In a rather diffuse way, it described the efforts of Aberon's citizens to fortify the city's defenses. Arya smiled as she thought of Arrin, the young boy she had met earlier who was himself a part of the building effort.

Distractedly, she wondered what would befall him. Chances were, she mused morbidly, he would be killed in an upcoming battle. He was twelve or thirteen, old enough to be recruited to bring water to the soldiers. Arya shuddered as she thought of the gruesome fate that most likely waited for Arrin, of the certain death that awaited all of those boys called into the service. However, once again, she felt helpless to stop the inevitable.

Deciding to take a small break from her tedious task, Arya rose from her seat and made her way over to the window of her room. Pensively, she gazed out over the city, wondering whether or not she should tell them all, Nasuada and Eragon and Orrin. It would be dangerous, to be sure. But perhaps it was the only chance they had. It had to be done properly, though, or the entire scheme would fail. It was her command. Failure would be unacceptable. Her mind worked quickly to sort out what was necessary to succeed. For a while, she struggled with the petty details; but then, slowly, her mind began to form a picture of just how the thing could be accomplished. She smiled as another bright idea came to her mind. Perhaps she could save Arrin from the fields of battle after all.

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"My Lady," Arya murmured as she approached Nasuada.

"Arya! You're just in time," Nasuada called out from the far end of the room. "I was hoping to have you come by, but I didn't want to intrude upon your work. Have you finished?"

Arya shook her head. "I decided to forsake my toil for a time and come here. I have something I must say that requires the greatest secrecy."

Nasuada frowned for a moment, then immediately waved the guards away. When they were alone, Nasuada turned to Arya. "Very well, you may-" she waved her arm to indicate that Arya was to put a ward against unfriendly ears.

Arya smiled briefly and whispered a few words in the ancient language. Within seconds, their entire conversation was set to be completely confidential.

"Have a seat, please," Nasuada directed. Arya inclined her head and sat in a chair opposite Nasuada. For a moment, she considered forgetting the whole scheme; but the feeling soon passed. She looked Nasuada in the eye.

"I have not mentioned this before, because I wished to protect innocent lives from being taken. Also, I wished to protect Eragon from being sent on a mission that could claim his life. However, now that it is fast becoming apparent that this war will not end quickly, I feel I must break my silence." She paused, giving Nasuada space to comment. Nasuada, however, remained silent and motioned for Arya to continue.

"Uru Baen is not impenetrable." She let her words stand for a moment, giving Nasuada the chance to absorb them. "There exists a secret tunnel, a very ancient tunnel that leads into the very heart of Galbatorix's grim fortress. I assure you that Galbatorix knows nothing of this passage; nor do any guards stand by it. It is a perfect opportunity for our purposes, if handled with care."

Nasuada eyed Arya with suspicion. "Tell me. How do you know of this?"

Arya sighed softly, eyes upon some distant object. "Forgive me, Nasuada, but that is one thing I cannot do, not yet. In time, perhaps it will become apparent. But now…now revealing such information could prove disastrous."

"And why," Nasuada queried, still unconvinced, "have you not spoken of this before? You have heard Orrin's plan. Why did you keep silent then?"

"Because I have only known of this tunnel for a short while. And because Orrin cannot know of this, not until it is done. He is an able ruler, but his tongue wags too much for my liking. It would be best if this information were kept confidential."

"And what of Eragon and Saphira?"

"They shall know soon. We must tread carefully, for if the slightest whisper of our doings reached the wrong ears, we would be doomed." Arya looked Nasuada directly in the eye. "Tonight, you, Eragon, Saphira, and I shall meet here. I have a few ideas I would like to share with the three of you."

Nasuada returned Arya's gaze solemnly. "I believe this is the hope we have been waiting for."

Arya rose from her seat. "And I," she murmured, making her way to the door, "believe it may be our undoing."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Queen Islanzadi stood among the ruins of Gilead. The city, which had been taken two days ago, still smoldered with fires that the elves' magic had failed to quench. The sun blared in its sphere, casting its light upon the surface of the city. A long sigh escaped the Queen's lips. The past few days had been full of death and grief. Oromis was gone, and Glaedr lived only through his Eldunari. Murtagh and Thorn had flown through the city, pillaging and killing as they went. They had wreaked considerable damage upon her armies already. In her heart, Islanzadi believed that, had Murtagh and Thorn not been called back suddenly to Uru Baen, the battle would have ended very differently.

Her thoughts were heavy with the weight of the dead, but his words hung heaviest of all. She had acted upon them, true. But had she done the right thing? Had she used wisdom in her judgments? What if they went to their deaths because of her command? And Arya…what would become of her? Worry ate at her like parasite, leaving her hollow and incapable of feeling. For a moment, she closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm. Then: "Your Majesty!" Her eyes flew open.

"Yes?"

One of her captains, Captain Revdathain, approached. "We have taken sixty of Galbatorix's soldiers captive. Do you wish for us to examine their minds or shall we first concentrate on putting out the fires?"

Islanzadi pondered the question for a moment, then: "I shall examine their minds. Separate your soldiers into groups of ten and see of you cannot find some way to stop the burning."

"Yes, your Majesty." Captain Revdathain bowed. "The prisoners are toward the front gate." Turning gracefully upon his heel, the male elf departed.

Islanzadi sighed yet again. Off to pry into the minds of another set of humans.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Islanzadi raised her eyebrows as she sifted through the memories of one of Galbatorix's foot soldiers. As of yet, all of the memories had been rather routine. His father had been one of Galbatorix's soldiers and he himself had been recruited at sixteen. Galbatorix's army was the only life he had ever known. Deciding that he held no information of interest, she extracted herself from the mind of the soldier and waved for the next one to be brought up.

Closing her eyes, she delved into the next man's mind. At first her findings were ordinary enough- parents, siblings, daily life. She sifted through memories of his service and travels. Then she came to several memories of Gilead, and of the prison there. One cell kept coming up. At first the cell was empty. Then occupied. Then empty again. Then an image flashed past her, an image of a dark-haired green-eyed woman: Arya. Islanzadi's pulse quickened. Her throat tightened. She went through the memories more slowly now, with much more care. Memories of Arya became more frequent. It became apparent that this soldier had been in charge of guarding her cell.

As she came to a particular set of memories, Islanzadi felt the man retract them and try to hide them from her. Like a vulture, Islanzadi went after the memories and latched onto them. With dry throat and fast-beating heart, she pried them from him. Her findings horrified her as nothing else had.

His memories showed her daughter lying in her cell, blood dripping from her brow. The soldier stood by the door with a group of three or four men. After a few moments of silence, the Shade appeared. His long red hair swayed as he walked. All of the soldiers straightened, fear preeminent in their eyes. As the Shade opened the door to Arya's cell, he chuckled. "Are you conscious, elf? Shall we begin now? I have brought my whip, this fine piece of leather. Nice spikes on the end. I have my branding irons. If you like, I could even take you to the rack."

Arya made no move to respond; indeed, she seemed too weak to do so. Durza smiled at her weakness. "I think, today, we shall begin with a good, old-fashioned beating." With the wave of his arm, he motioned for the soldiers to enter. For a moment, all was silent. Then: "You heard me. Beat her!"

Without hesitation, the five men stepped forward. Brutally, they swung at Arya's helpless form, kicking her from her cot to the unyielding stone below. She cried out in protest. Kicks and blows rained upon Arya. Blood flowed from wounds that had reopened under the soldiers' fists and boots.

The Shade laughed maniacally. "Harder! Beat her harder! She doesn't feel it yet!" After a few moments, he cried again, "Tell me elf! Where is your city? What have you done with the dragon egg, the King's possession? Why do you continue to resist? Do you still hold out hope for a rescue? Do you think your people will come save you?" With a sneer of contempt, he spat upon her. "Hope is dead. And you are all alone." He turned to his men. With a look of demonic cruelty he screamed, "Show her no mercy!"

The soldier to whom the memory belonged smiled at Durza's words. Without hesitation, he strode closer to Arya and kicked her directly in the face. Arya screamed.

At this, the men laughed and beat her harder, ignoring her cries of pain.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The memory ended soon after, though it was followed by more of similar content. As Islanzadi withdrew from the soldier's mind, she shook with rage. "Where are your companions?" she hissed.

"Dead," the soldier spat.

His eyes did not lie. Islanzadi whirled about to face a circle of elves who had clustered about her in concern. "Finish searching the others' minds. I will deal with this one myself."

Murmurs of "as you wish" followed her words. The elves stepped demurely, and fearfully, out of her way. Islanzadi then bound the man and grabbed hold of his chains. "I shall show you the meaning of no mercy," she whispered.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The walls of the Gilead prison pressed inward, making Islanzadi slightly claustrophobic. Still she pressed downward, towing the now-trembling soldier behind her.

Guided by the soldier's memory, she descended downward until she came upon the cell. The cell. The cell where her daughter had suffered. With magic, she split the bars of the cell to afford an opening into it. "Enter!" she commanded.

The soldier reluctantly obeyed.

Islanzadi followed after him, scanning her surroundings as she went. It was a small space, no more than fifteen or so feet in width. There were no windows, no sources of light. But for the small cot in the corner, there were no furnishings. As the soldier waited to the side, not daring to escape, Islanzadi proceeded to the cot. With tears in her eyes, she knelt. For a moment, she remained there, motionless. "Arya…" she whispered. She ran her hands over the cot. Arya's scent still lingered upon it, even after all those months. The tears spilled form her eyes as she caught sight of the stains of blood upon the fabric.

Suddenly filled with an uncontrollable rage, her face hardened. "Do you remember this cell?"

"Yes," the soldier whispered.

"And do you remember what you did here?" She rose and turned to face him.

"Yes," he answered again.

A whip hung upon a hook just outside the cell. Islanzadi appraised it for a moment, then, deciding it would suit, picked it up. She faced the soldier again. With a spell, she immobilized him. "Today you answer for it."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Two hours later, Islanzadi emerged from the dungeons of Gilead. Breathing deeply, she tried to rid the stench of the prison from her mind. She strode through the city's streets feeling oddly empty. It had been a long time since her temper had flared like that. The soldier's face flashed before her eyes, clear as crystal. The fear in his eyes…Islanzadi shuddered. Flecks of the man's blood covered her armor. Another stain upon her soul.

As she made her way back to the front gates, she beckoned to one of her captains. "Captain Havai, a dead soldier lies in the prison's fiftieth cell. He was punished for…certain heinous crimes against our people. I would like you to clean up the mess. Bury him in an unmarked grave…" she paused. "Then spit upon it."

Lifting her head in her queen-like manner, she continued toward the gate.


End file.
